


Dirty Data

by Ningikuga



Category: Atop the Fourth Wall
Genre: M/M, Previous Trauma, Questionable Dirty Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7464981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ningikuga/pseuds/Ningikuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Linksano has to install some new systems into Mechakara for Vyce, and that requires a certain amount of getting-to-know-you.  Intimately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Data

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://tgwtg-meme.livejournal.com/1329.html?thread=1559345#t1559345). Uses Mechakara's fanonical backstory, in which his Linkara is emotionally and sexually abusive, which should probably be a trigger warning in and of itself.
> 
> This work is intended to depict the characters/personae, not real people, and absolutely no implications about the people who write and play those characters are intended or should be inferred.

Mechakara glared at the door to the secondary shade locker until it opened. “I have been told that you are to assist me in defeating Linkara,” he said, half-stomping his way in.

Linksano yelped, dropped the adjustable wrench he’d been holding, and ducked behind the workbench to retrieve it. “Yes,” he replied, a bit out of breath, “but I was hoping Lord Vyce would give me a proper lab first.” He gestured at the hermetically sealed drawers that marched up the walls. “There are plenty of parts here,” he continued, “but they’re not optimized for independent androids. If this weren’t a hypertime-alpha converting universe, they wouldn’t even be safe to use on you. I don’t think Vyce realizes how complex a task this is. Is yours a hypertime-alpha or a hypertime-gamma variant?”

“Whichever is close enough to this one for Doctor Insano’s rift to allow passage through,” Mechakara answered. He hadn’t really intended to have a conversation with the fleshling; Vyce, at least, had power armor, which indicated at least some respect for the might of machines. Doctor Linksano was just a squishy bag of organs, like the rest of them.

“Probably a gamma variant, then,” Linksano muttered. “I doubt an accidental rift would have a high enough imaginary component to connect two alphas, even if one is a variant on the other.” He spun the wheel on the adjustable wrench, then set it down in exchange for a piece of chalk and scribbled ‘Tools’ on one of the drawers.

Mechakara closed the distance between him and the workbench, letting his footsteps ring on the hard ceramic tile of the floor of the ship. He wasn’t much taller than the mad scientist, but he outmassed him by a factor of at least three, and it was imperative that Linksano remember that. “Is this information necessary to implement the improvements Vyce has ordered?” he growled, allowing the metallic note in his vocoder to resonate louder. It was, he had found, a very effective way of intimidating humans.

Linksano’s head snapped up. “Are you breathing?” he said, incredulous.

“What?” This conversation was not going as Mechakara had intended.

“You’re breathing,” Linksano repeated, as a statement instead of a question. “You’ve been designed with a bellows to take in air and then expel it. Is that part of your cooling system? It can’t be very efficient.” His hands twitched on the bench; he set the chalk down, vaulted over the workbench, and bent at the waist to peer at Mechakara’s chest.

“It’s actually part of the power exhaust,” Mechakara said warily. “The internal fuel cell that powers me produces minute quantities of carbon dioxide and water vapor, although not nearly as much as your inefficient human respiration. The original design just had a system of fans, but they were noisy; the bellows system is much quieter, and allows me to more easily move among humans without being detected.”

Linksano pressed one hand to Mechakara’s chest. “And it doesn’t produce extra waste heat, or wear on your internal circuity?” he asked. “It seems as if that’s an awful lot of extraneous motion.”

“No more so than my standing and walking upright,” Mechakara explained. “I have multiple servo motors that adjust my balance on two legs in a manner similar to human musculature for walking, except mine are far more efficient.”

Linksano traced something across Mechakara’s chest with his fingers. “Astonishing,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have believed Linkara capable of such work.”

“He wasn’t,” Mechakara replied with an expression halfway between a sneer and a smirk. “After his third refusal to give me adequately functioning arms, I took matters into my own hands, so to speak. Most of this body is my own design, although I was limited by the materials he had on hand.”

“I see,” Linksano murmured. “May I - may I remove your clothing? I’d like to get a better look at the systems I’m supposed to be improving.”

Mechakara pondered that for a moment. “You may,” he answered, spreading his arms to give Linksano access to his torso.

Linksano’s fingers peeled the jacket and flannel off of him. “Pity about the skin on this arm,” he sighed. “That’s an inelegant join, there.”

“That portion of the original skin was not salvageable,” Mechakara informed him. “One of the last things my former master did before I killed him was to set his grimoire on fire, so that I could not study it. He was not as careful as he should have been, and ended up with superficial burns on that hand. The outer layer of skin shredded when I tried to remove it.”

Linksano swallowed audibly. “This isn’t vat-grown, then?” he asked, his voice quavering. “It’s an actual alternate Linkara’s skin?”

“I am not clear on that at the moment, myself,” admitted Mechakara. “I wore my former master’s skin until Insano disassembled me. I was only marginally and intermittently conscious between then and when Vyce woke me up in a reassembled body. I understand that he used magic to reassemble me. I do not know how much of what you are seeing is technically my original components, and what might be a thaumaturgical reconstruction.”

“Or a reconstitution,” Linksano said thoughtfully. He slipped his thumbs under the grey t-shirt and tugged it up over Mechakara’s head. “Either way, it’s not visually distinguishable from human skin. How much of the underlying tissue did you take?”

“Just the layer of adipose tissue underneath,” Mechakara replied. “It was necessary to maintain the health of the nerve cells in the skin itself.”

Linksano’s eyebrows briefly appeared above his goggles; a grin appeared equally quickly. “You can feel using the skin?” he asked.

“It seemed more efficient to create a neural interface than to have to detect temperature and pressure through the skin,” Mechakara replied. “Why?”

Linksano repressed a giggle and trailed his fingernails lightly across Mechakara’s left nipple.

Instantly, Linksano’s wrist was caught tight in Mechakara’s metal hand. “Did I mention,” Mechakara said in a carefully flat voice, “that my former master occasionally made me perform certain acts without bothering to ask for or obtain my consent?”

“I’m sorry!” Linksano squeaked. “And I’m not just saying that so you don’t break my wrist; I’m genuinely sorry. Oh, dear, I look like him, too, don’t I?”

“You do.” Mechakara increased the pressure on Linksano’s wrist slightly. “Your voice is slightly less irritating, but I had, in fact, noticed the resemblance.”

Linksano danced in place, trying to retrieve his arm. “Any chance I could obtain your consent, then?”

The idea startled Mechakara so much he let go. “What?” he said, although that seemed inadequate, somehow. The blizzard of hexadecimal code that would have been required to express his confusion wouldn’t have made sense to Linksano, anyway.

“You said he made you do, um, things, without your consent,” Linksano explained, rubbing his wrist to get the circulation going again. “I asked whether you might be interested in doing them voluntarily. If the answer is no, then just forget I asked, but it seems to me you have a lovely set of nerves and you’re not getting the most out of them, so to speak.”

“It genuinely hadn’t occurred to me,” Mechakara said. “I will consider the offer and give you a response when I have had time to process the idea.”

“Certainly,” Linksano agreed, getting back to inspecting Mechakara’s structure. “I’m going to need better scanners, I think.”

\---

“Is this space really preferable to the shade locker?” Mechakara asked, inspecting the room. It appeared to have previously been a storage space for miscellaneous engine parts, although most of those had been shoved into a corner of the room to make way for a table and a chair. Both the table and the chair had clearly been welded together out of parts of plasteel crates.

“In terms of working space, it’s more or less a wash,” Linksano admitted. “In terms of my having something resembling privacy without shades coming and going at random, yes, it’s vastly preferable.” He waved something that looked like a cross between a lightsaber and a hacksaw in the direction of the table. “If you would, please take off your outer garments and lie down on the table. This should only take a minute.”

Mechakara kicked off his shoes, then turned away from Linksano and removed the jacket, tossing it on the chair. He gripped the edges of the flannel shirt and pulled it taut across his shoulders, deliberately flexing slightly before removing his fully-fleshed arm from one sleeve and dragging the heavy but clinging fabric across his back. He was rewarded with uncomfortable shuffling from his observer. Good; that was as expected.

He tugged the t-shirt off and stretched, letting the servos under the skin roll as he reached upwards and then outwards. “I have thought about your offer from two days ago,” he said, folding the shirt in half and dropping it on top of the jacket.

“Don’t worry about it,” Linksano chuckled nervously. “Just a passing fancy. I have no intention of pressuring you.”

Mechakara cocked his hips slightly as he undid the fly of his black jeans, making sure the purr of the zipper was audible. “Oh?” he asked. “I was under the impression that you found me . . . attractive.”

“Er, well, yes, at least in the purely physical sense,” Linksano babbled, “both in terms of your surface appearance and as an example of elegant design under constraints, but I’m not under any impression that you owe me any obligations because of my attraction, I was disabused of that notion quite some time ago, please don’t hurt me again!”

The jeans slid to the floor. Mechakara wasn’t wearing boxers; he’d never seen the point. He tried to step out of his socks simultaneously with the jeans, and succeeded with the left foot but not the right. “I’m not going to hurt you, unless you want me to,” he said, giving up and plucking off the sock with his skinless hand. “I was actually going to ask you precisely what you wanted from such an encounter.”

“Ah, um, well, I hadn’t exactly thought it through that far,” Linksano admitted, blushing furiously. “How - how - how _functional_ are you? Um, genitally?”

Mechakara turned the rest of the way around. “I kept all the requisite nerve endings,” he said, gesturing at the combination of hydraulics and tissue between his legs. “There’s a sort of inflatable piston there that can erect it, although I haven’t really tested it. I don’t have an equivalent to a human prostate, nor do I have testes. Is that adequate for your intentions?”

“I think so,” Linksano murmured, leaning in and adjusting his goggles. “I suppose - just let me know what feels good, and what doesn’t.” He set down the portable scanner and ran his hands slowly down Mechakara’s arms.

Gently, carefully, Linksano’s fingers danced across Mechakara’s skin, in some spots skating lightly, in others tapping, probing, even pinching lightly. Mechakara stood still, processing the sensory input. Somewhere during the processing, he noticed that his phallus had erected without a conscious command. Interesting.

“That,” Mechakara blurted as Linksano’s thumbs brushed the android’s upper thighs. “Do that again.”

“As you wish,” Linksano half-whispered, his face barely an inch from Mechakara’s belly.

Somehow, that was more thrilling than the touch - a human, one that strongly resembled his old master but wasn’t him, had never hurt him, taking orders from him. Mechakara raised an eyebrow. “Get on your knees,” he commanded, pressing lightly down on Linksano’s shoulders.

“Yes, sir,” Linksano replied dreamily. He’d already been on one knee; the other followed easily. That put his nose at about Mechakara’s groin. “Do you want me to blow you?” he offered. 

“I don’t actually know if I’m capable of orgasm,” Mechakara admitted.

Linksano looked up. “If it feels good, does that actually matter?” he asked.

Mechakara pondered that. “No,” he decided. “It doesn’t. Suck it.”

Linksano complied, wrapping his lips around just the head, then licking up and down its length. It was wet and messy, a process filled with slimy organs and messy human fluids. It was a little disgusting.

But it felt amazing. The wetness and the warmth of Linksano’s mouth were producing showers of neural signals Mechakara was only barely capable of processing.

He dug his fingers into Linksano’s hair and pushed his head closer. “More,” he demanded.

Linksano hummed in response, a happy, contented note as he opened the back of his throat and swallowed Mechakara’s erection to its root. His tongue slid along its whole length, teasing, tasting, nearly causing a hash table collision of new sensations.

“You’re a mess,” Mechakara growled, the metallic note high and harsh in his voice. “You act like a rational creature, you claim to be logical, but you’re a haphazard pile of hormones and blood and bones. You’re a slave to your biology, Doctor.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Linksano mumbled around Mechakara’s dick, bobbing his head lightly.

“Your whole species is incapable of reason,” Mechakara barked, the words coming fast and heavy. “Your civilization is a pile of lies atop a cesspit and a graveyard. You’re not worthy to polish our machine exteriors, are you, you drooling slut?”

“Unh-unh,” Linksano panted, lips parting briefly before swallowing Mechakara again. He did something with the muscles in the back of his throat; the flood of new data nearly made Mechakara see stars.

“And you like it that way, don’t you, Doctor?” Mechakara snarled. His bellows program was running far too fast; he must be using more energy than he realized. “Look at you, kneeling at my robotic feet, panting for it. You want to be used. You’re happy to grovel as long as you get to admire my circuitry, aren’t you, you little cocksucker?”

Linkano nodded furiously and sucked harder, his throat and tongue working furiously at Mechakara’s mechanical cock.

“Harder,” Mechakara breathed. “Faster, you flesh-whore, suck harder, worm, harder, harder, - !” A torrent of static overwhelmed his vocoder as a sudden flood of neural firings sent his data processing into instant overload.

As the torrent of nerve impulses quieted down, he heard a soothing, if nasal, voice calmly chanting, “Zero, one, one zero, one one, one zero zero, one zero one -”

“That’s enough, Doctor, I’m fine,” Mechakara said. “Apparently I am more functional than I had thought.” He glanced down; Linksano was still on his knees. “Would you prefer me to return the favor, or would you rather take care of yourself?”

“I’d love it, if you’re willing,” Linksano whimpered. “I don’t think it’ll take very long, either way.”

Mechakara reached down, lifted Linksano up by the armpits, and deposited him on the table. “Lie back,” he ordered, and Linksano complied instantly, bumping his head on the table in his haste.

Linksano was wearing what appeared to be black pajama pants. That struck Mechakara as an odd sartorial decision, but who knew what the standards of dress were in his home universe? He yanked down the waistband and freed Linksano’s erection from his boxer-briefs. “Look at you, human,” he growled. “A slave to your hormones, completely at my mercy.”

“You could utterly destroy me with a gesture,” Linksano agreed, panting and writhing in place under Mechakara’s grip.

Mechakara curled his flesh-covered hand around Linksano’s erection and started pumping, slowly at first, then more roughly. “Panting after an android who isn’t even technically alive,” he sneered.

“You - ah! - you clearly have a soul,” Linksano argued, his fingers white against the edges of the table. “Whether or not you - ungh - you meet the criteria for a living being, you - oh, oh, oh! - you’re clearly sentient, sapient, and sophontic.”

Mechakara smiled cruelly. “And that’s enough?” he spat. “You groveling, sycophantic amoeba, you’re enjoying every moment of this, aren’t you? Having sex with an overgrown vibrator with a brain ten times your capacity.”

“Y-yes,” Linksano whimpered, arching into Mechakara’s touch.

Mechakara lowered his head to whisper directly into Linksano’s ear with his most robotic, least human vocoder setting. “Come for me, Doctor. I want to see you in pieces.”

Linksano bit his lip, shuddered convulsively, and howled, splattering Mechakara’s hand and his own shirt with sticky fluid. Mechakara resisted the urge to recoil in disgust, instead resting his hand on Linksano’s abdomen and holding him gently down until his breathing went back to normal.

Linksano’s head lolled back on the table. “Thank you,” he breathed, gulping air.

Mechakara attempted to calculate an appropriate response, and couldn’t find a solution. “My pleasure,” he finally responded.

And, surprisingly, it was true.


End file.
